I still had the strange sensation of being outside of my life. It was as if the girl standing there with Leo in that cold cemetery was someone who, although she looked exactly like me, was a ghost. The real me looked on unfeeling, from somewhere high above.
Then the sun came out and that Professor began to sing in a deep strong voice, a prayer I didn’t understand. She began softly and then her voice grew and soared, and it was beautiful. She sang as we threw earth onto my grandfather’s coffin, and somehow that prayer and her deep, unusual voice gave the sad scene a feeling of something big and deep.
When the funeral was over and we were about to leave, she came to me and took both my hands in hers. She seemed to want to hold them forever. ‘Borys Stasiewicz’s granddaughter!’ she said, loo
